


Legends

by sasha_b



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:18:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gawain and Gareth, Arthur and Lancelot, and a quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ingridmatthews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingridmatthews/gifts).



> Written for ingridmatthews for Yuletide 2009. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Feedback is more than welcomed.

The sun was fierce, but the three men that rode together were used to hardship, and did not complain as they made their way companionably through the forest. A few snorts from the horses, the rattle of polished armor and the jingling of tack and spurs were the only sounds save the humming that came quietly from the rear of the tiny column.

"Gareth, my brother," the large blond at the head of the line said, the calmness in his tone belying his true feelings on the matter. "While I trust you are a good knight and a humble one, you are not a bard. Gods teeth, but cease the noise before I trounce you once again."

"As you did the last time? I seem to recall that was an even match," the youngest of the three answered gamely, his horse black and shining in the bright light that filtered through the trees. His standard he'd left behind, but the shield and colors he wore matched the flag that normally accompanied him on any kind of trip or joust or quest. Gareth, or Beaumains as he still referred to himself when in a silly mood – it drove Sir Kay crazy that the name did not bother him – smiled and laughed as he followed his brother and the other down the well trodden path that spiraled away from Camelot. Away from home, but toward adventure.

And attending along with them, Gareth's best and biggest desire and worship.

Sir Lancelot rode a large white Destrier, the saddle and accoutrements well made and beautiful in their perfection. His helm was off and lashed to the bags that rode at the horse's sides, and his dark, springing wild hair hung artfully into his face as he laughed along with the brothers. Gareth smiled more brightly at the sight; when Lancelot had knighted him, he'd thought he'd been given the best gift he'd ever thought to receive. And yet their sovereign, King Arthur, he of the noblest blood and manner, had chosen to send Gareth and Gawain on a quest with Lancelot. Ah, life could not get much better than this.

Gawain turned slightly in the saddle to watch his brother and Lancelot's progress as they rode easily behind him. The path was narrow and the day early, but the sun had made its presence known already and he found himself a bit on the warm side. Being used to harsh conditions was well and good, but Gawain wondered just how harsh the experience would be when they arrived at their destination. He sighed to himself; he needed to learn to leave his dark thoughts to the times he wasn't on a quest or trying to prove himself worthy of the task he had been set.

"Lancelot," Gawain called. "Would you lead us? I would like to speak to my brother. You know too well I am most skilled in the art of bringing him to his level." Gawain's tight smile did not reach his eyes, but King Arthur's best knight nodded his head in agreement, paying no attention to the slightly sour mood that had appeared on Gawain's normally cheerful countenance.

"But of course, my excellent knight. Heaven forfend I should stand between you and your lofty goals." Lancelot tipped his head in mocking respect to Gawain, and passed the blond as he took the lead. Their horses came close and Lancelot reached out to touch Gawain's dark mount as they did. "I am pleased our lord chose to send me with you Orkney's on this trip. Mayhap we will become better acquainted as friends…I would like that." He shoved his hair out of his face and the corners of his fine mouth turned up; Gawain smiled helplessly back and allowed the other man to pass him on the path. He shook his head as Lancelot took the lead; why was he afeard of this man and what his skills meant? Du Lac was a kind heart and a great knight, and Gawain should be ashamed of his worry. And yet….

When he drew abreast of Gareth, Gawain reached out and took the younger man's reins in his hand and pulled him to. The trees above them swayed with the warm wind, and the animals they rode shifted restlessly as the brothers stared at each other.

"Arthur trusted me to take you out on this mission," Gawain said quietly, his eyes narrowing as he watched Gareth closely. "Are you ready to do what you must for Camelot? Can you be a man, my brother, instead of a silly child?"

His horse stamped nervously and tossed its mane as Gareth rolled his eyes and jerked his reins back. "Gawain, I am full grown and knighted as you are. Do not fret so; I swear it to you I won't make a fool of you or our good name. Besides, I wish to prove that I _am_ deserving of this. I am," he emphasized, clucking to his horse and starting back on the path. "Lancelot believed in me enough to give me my status – I'd sooner run myself through than to appear not worthy of his choice."

Gawain raised his eyes to the sky and touched the pommel of his sword; his little brother was right. Gareth might be young and untried, but he had almost bested Gawain the last time they'd met on the field, and Gawain would do well to remember that. Beside that – Arthur was no fool, and if he trusted someone that person was worthy. No question.

Gawain caught up with the younger Orkney and touched his gloved fingers to Gareth's shoulder. "Forgive me, Gareth. I do trust you – but you are so young and I only wish the best for you." He dropped his hand as they rode side by side on the narrow path, Lancelot's large Black and his brightly colored cloak almost glowing through the swath of overwhelming green foliage that surrounded them. "I promised our king and our mother that nothing would happen to you." He leaned forward and patted the neck of his horse absently; he didn't want his brother to doubt his love or trust, but by God, the man was barely twenty and beardless yet. And Gawain _had_ promised their mother, and he would sooner slit his own throat then fail in a pledge to her.

His other brothers, Agravaine and Mordred, were so different from this one Gawain felt he had to protect Gareth, shield him, make sure his growing up would be relatively pain free and simple and honest. He didn't want the darkness that had seemed to grow in the others to show up in Gareth; that darkness that sometimes twisted Gawain's own thoughts as well.

Twisting his mouth as he thought, he allowed his brother to pass him and ride between Sir Lancelot and himself. Gawain scrubbed a hand through his short blond hair and ticked his eyes to the blue of Gareth's overtunic. The younger man always been fond of that color – not so strange he'd adopted it as his standard issue. Gawain flicked at his own black surcoat with his gloved fingers and allowed his horse free rein as he followed the trail of the two men he feared might be better knights than he – no doubt Lancelot, but his own brother?

Perhaps.

"Never fear, Gawain," Gareth's solid voice floated back to him. "I would not want you to deliver bad news to our dear mother. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, least of all you – someone who can haunt me till the end of my days." His light tone and laugh seemed to float through the trees and surrounded Gawain's ears with the feel of youth and cheer. God, but Gareth just might be the death of him yet.

*

The cave was large and dark and the knights could hear water dripping from its outcroppings. Lancelot squatted between the two Orkneys; his uncovered head blending with the dappled leaves and rocky bolder they had taken refuge behind. Gawain ducked further down and wished for the umpteenth time his blond hair was another color, any other color, and pushed at his sheathed sword so it would cease its banging against his bent leg. Gareth's tousled light brown hair brushed at Gawain's cheek as his brother leaned in closely to whisper in his ear.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Arthur is sure. And I believe what our Uncle says," Gawain shot back, and then lowered his voice when both men gave him a look. "Do you not see the ground?"

Three sets of eyes peered into the pre-dusk gloom, and all three sets widened when the sun burst its last over the horizon and lit the earth at the edge of the cave –

"God," breathed Lancelot, and Gareth sucked in a sound that sounded like a sob. Gawain crossed himself involuntarily and slid a bit closer to his young brother. Trees surrounded the cave area, and the foliage in high summer was beautiful and colorful and misleading.

No wonder the bones of so many people coated the earth in front of the yawning opening like the carpet of dusty white that surely led to Hell. It was wrong in so many ways for such a beautiful spot to be so much a place of carnage and death.

"We must be slow and cautious," Gawain breathed, and Lancelot cut his eyes back to the blond knight. "At the very least," he answered dryly, the final stream of daylight catching the corner of his angular face and making his features appear almost fey-like in their sharpness. Gawain held his tongue; Arthur trusted this man with his life and Gareth idolized him to the point of worship. Gawain himself knew Lancelot was more than a mere knight; yet being Arthur's blood heir made Gawain wonder some days just whom Arthur would really choose if he had a choice.

The king did have a choice – he was king, after all, and could skip over Gawain to Lancelot in a heartbeat. Not that he would, but on days like these, when Lancelot's intelligence and kind demeanor only made Gawain feel worse….

"I will go first."

Gareth made to rise and both Lancelot and Gawain caught him by either arm and jerked him down into a crouch. "I think not, brother," Gawain snapped out immediately even as Lancelot opened his mouth to say something similar. "We haven't even had a chance to figure out what sort of – "

"What if I draw it out? You two can catch it off guard as I distract it," Gareth spoke over Gawain, his eager voice and body language animated and vibrating. The night drew on quickly and he found his blood singing with the possibility of doing something as brave as fighting a _dragon_ in front of the noble Lancelot almost too much to bear. He would not let Gawain deter him from this goal. He was a knight of the Round Table and he was good enough to have been trusted by their king to do this job – and he stood again, despite the two men's hands on his arms, tugging insistently.

He jerked his hands free and drew his sword. His dark hair fell into his eyes and he blew a short breath from his mouth to free its blinding floppiness from his face, and he turned to face Gawain as the moon rose behind his head, slowly, inexorably. Time would pass and this thing would be done, regardless of what Gawain wanted or if Lancelot trusted Gareth or not. The wind blew at them all and brought a smell from the mouth of the cave that had Lancelot closing his eyes, Gawain swallowing heavily and Gareth biting his lips in order to force down the urge to vomit. His hands trembled and the rattling of his gloved fingers on his sword could be heard easily.

"Do not be foolish, Gareth," Gawain said, his own hands shaking slightly; he seized the rock they hid behind and stopped the motion. "Lancelot and I are more experienced in this type of thing…you shall be our backup. Wait!"

The younger Orkney had rolled his eyes and ignored his brother's impassioned words. He stepped around Lancelot's armor clad feet and strode directly into the clearing, the crunching of the bones of the dead echoing in his ears and coating his own boots with powder. He took a deep breath, touched the place over his chest where his cross hung inside his tunic, and thought of his mother and his king.

"Dragon!" he called out, his voice even and ringing in the blackness. The trees bent and swayed and the cloying sickly sweet scent of dead and roasted flesh rose around him in a miasma that made his eyes water, but he stepped to the cave even as he could hear Lancelot and Gawain cursing and following him to either side.

"Come face me, coward! I am of King Arthur's court, and I would yield to no man nor monster! I am not afraid of you! Come out!"

"God, Gareth," Gawain's voice hissed out from the darkness to Gareth's left. At least his brother and Lancelot weren't wasting his effort of surprise on the dragon; if they had merely chased after him into the clearing, Gareth would have been furious. But both men were knights for a reason, and not stupid or wasteful of whatever gift a comrade might give them. Gareth only hoped to be as talented as his brother – or if God granted his most fervent wish, Sir Lancelot – and perhaps one day be at Arthur's right hand as a trusted ally.

"Come forth and face King Arthur's best!"

Silence, save the moving of the trees and the sounds of … no, the night animals were quiet and probably fearful, as Gareth should be. It was odd to only hear the wind and the foliage, Gareth thought, his hands on his sword now still and ready. He raised the large polished and deadly sharp steel in front of his face and when the moon reflected off its length he was momentarily blinded –

A roar unlike anything he'd ever heard shattered the still of the grove and suddenly there was nothing but stinking heat and light and shining, rippling _strong_ animal flesh and the scales of the thing's hide bouncing the light in the clearing off into a million bits of gold.

Gareth could not move nor breathe at first; when the belch of fire came straight at him, his brain suddenly snapped into motion and he ducked and rolled out of the way of the killer flame. The dragon screamed in anger and turned to follow the tiny knight that scrambled under its tree trunk sized legs; the long tail whipped furiously behind it. Gareth heard a crash and the sound of Lancelot yelling; he assumed the tail had caught the hidden man by surprise but could not stop to find out. He turned on his heel and thrust his sword toward the monster's face, the great blinking red eye almost within touching distance.

He couldn't tell, but from the sounds the dragon made he assumed he must have scratched the beast. It bellowed in agony and swiped at its muzzle even as he attempted to take advantage of its momentary distraction and darted under the raised clawed hand toward its heart. Gareth heard Gawain shouting something, could sense the rushed forward motion from his brother, caught the sight of his black overtunic and the singing of Gawain's sword, but all he could see was the red of the dragon's eyes and the sharp, bloody claws that were suddenly swinging toward him.

He raised his weapon and the bone of the claws clashed with the steel of his sword and Gareth's arm vibrated from the weight. He bared his teeth and bent his knees to take some of the brunt force that the dragon brought, and he could feel the sweat from his efforts pop out on his brow. It slid down his face and mixed with the grime already there; he cursed and bent his back and legs further as he tried to hold the monster that was breathing in his face off long enough for Lancelot or Gawain to take it out.

His blue surcoat blew backward between his knees as the dragon roared at him. Gareth wondered what was taking the other men so long, and then his eyes swung from the deadly claws to meet with the animal's own red ones as he sensed the intake of breath that meant _flame_. He shouted to the other knights, some unintelligible sound, and with monumental effort pushed his sword at the dragon, managing to get the claws away from his tender face and neck as the thing sucked in more air. A strange clicking sound reached Gareth's ears, and he felt heat stronger than any hearth fire on his skin as he screamed - _for Arthur!_ \- and shoved with his all his might as the supernatural fire belched all around him, lighting his clothing and cooking him inside his armor. He dropped when the dragon unexpectedly let go of his sword, his body falling to the ground without his say so, and as he thought to look his last on this earth the dragon reared up on its hind legs and bellowed in a mighty pain. The moon was fat and blinding behind the thing's horned skull and Gareth saw the silhouette of a man, weapon flying and stabbing, the knight's tunic and sword blurring with his motions and fury.

Lancelot's black hair shone with drops of blood and bits of broken dragon scale and his mouth was a rictus of power and surety as he drove his long blade into the base of the dragon's skull. Gareth watched in awe, unable to move, even as Gawain's hands were on him and pulling him free of the thing's pounding claws.

Gawain beat at the remaining flames that smoldered at Gareth's tunic and hair; his face was frantic and scratched and he let Lancelot finish off the dragon as he knew the other man could. The ground shook as the beast's body finally thumped down to earth, and Gawain gently pulled Gareth to the outcropping of rocks that ringed the clearing as the other knight dispatched the animal that had been the cause of death for so many for so long.

"Gareth," Gawain spoke, the tears in his voice reflecting those on his cheeks. "Brother, can you hear me?" He ripped his gauntlets off and touched Gareth's face, only pulling his fingers back when Gareth let go a small scream of pain. The skin around his mouth was red and angry, and his forehead and right cheekbone looked – Gawain swallowed, but managed to lever his brother into a sitting position. He tore the bottom of his coat and tried to wipe at the blood that coated Gareth's chin and neck.

Gareth's vision swam but he forced himself to meet Gawain's gaze and tried to smile. That caused too much pain so he stopped, but he raised his hand and touched Gawain's. The older Orkney immediately gathered it between his two and leaned forward, his knees sinking into the soft ground beneath them. Lancelot was suddenly at his back, and the two knights stared worriedly into Gareth's face. Lancelot was sweating and coated in mess, but the blood in his hair and the shining bits of dragon skin that decorated his flesh and his armor seemed to Gareth marks of very honest and powerful battle.

He wondered if this man would be allowed to be immortal – why would God ever take such a good and talented knight from the world? He was the picture of perfection and Gareth was only sorry he couldn't have held the dragon off longer in order to make Lancelot's job easier.

"Gareth," Lancelot's musical voice came as a balm to his ears. "You are a foolhardy, idiotic man." He pulled his own surcoat over his head and ripped it into pieces, handing some to Gawain as the other knight began to staunch the various wounds on Gareth's body, Gawain removing some of his brother's armor in the process. "And yet that was the bravest thing I've seen in my many years as Arthur's man. Our liege lord will be so very proud of you – as your brother should be. As I am."

Gareth felt tears spring to his eyes and he allowed them to spill over onto his face; he couldn't stop them even if he'd wanted to, and Gawain rolled his lips inward as he leaned his grimy face next to Gareth's as Lancelot took up the job of bandaging and caretaking. Gawain picked up his brother's hand again and held it to his armor covered chest, his own tears falling still. "Don't ever do anything like that again," he said; his throaty voice full and thick. "You are a knight worthy of our court, brother. Don't ever doubt that either. Damn insolent ridiculous child!"

He laughed and cuffed at his eyes as he laid Gareth's hand gently down; Lancelot murmured to him and they both shared in the burden of lifting the injured man. They carried him to the area where they had tethered their horses, and Gawain set about making Gareth comfortable for the night as Lancelot returned to the bone covered clearing to finish up his task of dragon dispatching.

The pre-dawn air was chilled but Gareth felt no cold as he lay propped up against a tree, Gawain's cloak and all available clothing covering him as he drowsed. Gawain sat next to him, his hand touching Gareth's chest every now and again to make sure his brother still breathed properly. Lancelot had tried to take the first watch from Gawain, but the blond had shaken his head and refused to rest, his eyes dark and unreadable when Lancelot had attempted to reason with him.

Gawain adjusted the cloak that covered Gareth for the hundredth time and raised his face to the sky, welcoming the coming day. The night had passed in oblivion; he was certain Lancelot had done what he needed to in order to dispatch the dragon's body. The king would be well pleased, although Gawain had a feeling their lord might be a bit angry at the danger Gareth had placed himself in. Nevertheless, they were knights of the Round Table and they did what they must.

No matter if the things were foolish and life threatening.

Gawain stared down at his younger brother, and wondered again about the day when he'd have to carry the news that Gareth had died to his mother and the court. He swiped a hand over his face and was surprised at the chill he felt in his skin; the sun was breaking through the trees and he knew the midsummer day would be warm and fine.

And yet everything seemed blasted and cold and grey – except the red of Gareth's wounds, and the bright, bright blue of his tunic and cape.

*

The battle surgeon had left a few hours previous; Gawain sat alone at his brother's bedside. He had insisted on Gareth's being taken to his quarters; the younger Orkney's rooms were too small and this way Gawain could keep a good watch on Gareth as he healed. The sumptuous bed and linens surrounded Gareth and pillowed him comfortably; Gawain thanked Arthur silently again for being overgenerous and providing his nephew and heir with stately rooms.

Arthur must have had magic, for as soon as Gawain thought of him, the king appeared at Gawain's side. Gawain jumped and then flushed; how unmanly of him. He stood and bowed to his uncle, then smiled crookedly when Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and embraced him.

"How is he?"

The king's normally strong baritone was damped down and the two men moved to the window where they could speak freely without worry of waking the slumbering knight. The sun reflected off the pebbled glass windows and cast Arthur's young but world weary face into shadow; Gawain was struck suddenly with how aged his uncle was looking. He sighed and rubbed at the three day stubble that coated his chin and leaned against the wall.

"He is passing fair, lord. The fever has gone and I think he will recover well. Of course according to my mother, he is scarred for life and she refuses to let him out of her sight." He laughed briefly; the smile that accompanied it did not reach his eyes. "I am certain Gareth will have something to say about that."

"Morgause is kind hearted and soft," Arthur spoke. He rolled his lips inward and turned to face the window directly, and the light that filtered in lit his eyes and hair and ah! There was the man Gawain was used to seeing on the battlefield and in the Great Hall. He breathed more freely at the sight – Gawain knew he would be king one day, but his uncle was Arthur, and he did not wish for the other man's death. Not yet – not ever.

"And she is a mother and yet," Arthur cocked his head and looked at Gawain out of the corner of his eye. "Gareth is a knight as are most of her sons, and she knows what to expect. I would not cuckold Gareth because his mother, my sister, wished for his safety." Arthur moved to a chair that sat near the banked fireplace and sat. He did not wear the gold circlet he normally did and his dark hair seemed mussed and unkempt. And yet even in exhaustion and worry, the king of Britain looked every inch a monarch.

Gawain had heard whisperings, had seen things lately about the castle he wanted to ignore. Things that involved the lady Guinevere, and Gareth's idol Sir Lancelot, and stories of Arthur's ignorance and blindness and he would not think about those things because they were idle bits of gossip. His uncle was a good man, and the queen loved him. Lancelot was the queen's champion and was of course worthy of any adoration and love his aunt bestowed upon him. It was natural and right and Arthur suddenly sat up straighter and Gawain's thoughts snapped back to the present.

"Our mother understands this," Gawain said as he stood in front of Arthur, his body unconsciously at attention as always when he addressed the king. "Do not fear, uncle. Things will be as they should be. Gareth would be horrified to know of mother's words to you." He twisted his mouth wryly in a grin. "Besides – this is his life's dream. He would be proud to die in your service."

_Not that I would let him._

"As I know all of you would," Arthur stated plainly. He rose and Gawain could hear the other man's back creak as Arthur made a face of annoyance. His large hand rested over his spine and he shook his head as he approached the bed again. "Do not grow old, Gawain. It is not a position I would wish on my worst enemy." He stared down at the young Orkney that slumbered in Gawain's bed, and once more Gawain was struck with the idea that things were perhaps not as they should be in Camelot.

He touched Arthur on the shoulder and met the king's eyes dead on. "I am your man, my liege. As ever. Ask and you shall receive any help you should need – I am with you."

He swallowed nervously; he had let on too much? But his uncle merely nodded his head and crossed his arms over his gold surcoat. "And that is why I love and trust you, my nephew."

Gareth stirred and made a nonsensical sound as he shifted to his left side in Gawain's large bed. Arthur reached inside his clothing and handed Gawain a small cloth wrapped packet, and turned toward the door. "Give him this when he wakes with my gratitude. You also have it," he added and was gone before Gawain could speak or offer proper obeisance.

"God give me strength," Gawain whispered. He sat at the edge of the bed and held the packet in his hands, the sword calloused fingers unused to something so tiny and delicate. He wondered what it was, and was examining the thing when a rough voice made him jerk and jump for the second time that morning.

"What has you so sad and forlorn looking, Gawain?"

Gawain's eyes darted to the figure surrounded by pillows and furs and smiled; a true smile, one that lit his expression from the inside. He picked up a goblet of water and handed it to Gareth, who was struggling to rise in the downy bed.

"I am well and rested as you can see, although if I were to sleep in this bed every night, I might never leave it again. Arthur loves you well," Gareth joked, and then raised the goblet to his dry lips, drinking deep of the cool water Gawain had handed him. His slender throat bobbed as Gawain watched him in relief and anger and love and annoyance all at once.

"Arthur loves you as well," Gawain commented dryly and handed over the linen wrapped packet when Gareth had finished drinking. "He was here and left this for you."

Gareth took the thing with some trepidation. "Are you certain this isn't some form of punishment? I know mother is not pleased that I did what I did – and I'm sure she let our uncle hear of it." He turned the small packet over in his fingers, afraid to open it. What if it were a renouncement of his knighthood? What if Arthur was ready to send him back to the kitchens? What if he had shamed his family in his haste to prove himself?

"Is Sir Lancelot well? I am sorry I could not help you two dispatch of the dragon properly," he asked, stalling for time. He worried his lip between his teeth as Gawain rolled his eyes and scooted forward on the bed. "My brother," Gawain answered; the sarcasm in his tone evident, "our best and bravest knight took care of the dragon himself. I was caring for you at the time – and believe me when I say things are just as they should be. All is well," he finished, his words coming more softly at the contrite expression on Gareth's face. "Do not fear. You are as a god in Lancelot eyes, and Arthur himself has visited more than once as you slept. And I have been here this whole time, keeping watch over you."

Gawain leaned slightly and touched his brother's chest gently over his heart. The feel of the _thump thumping_ was reassuring and up until that point, Gawain had not truly acknowledged the fear he might lose his silly little _Beaumains_ in something as typical as fighting a dragon. It was something knights did often – but not this knight. And not certainly when this knight's beloved brother was involved and in danger.

His eyes burned and Gawain flattened his palm out over Gareth's chest. His thoughts about Arthur's possible troubles, Lancelot and the queen, their mother and his own problems melted away as he met the gaze that was so like his own. Sounds in the room faded away and the two Orkneys were alone in the world – and Gareth was alive and whole and Gawain wasn't left to his own devices, floating along with just the court worries and an empty life to sustain him.

"Do not leave me," he murmured. Gareth nodded and did not speak.

A bird landed on the sill of the window and its song burst the reverie that had stunned Gawain into such a strange torpor – he shook his head and removed his thick, strong hand from Gareth's body. "Open Arthur's gift, brother, or I will surely die from waiting." He laughed and wiped surreptitiously at his eyes.

He crossed his legs, clad in soft deerskin trousers, and the thin tunic he wore rucked up around his middle, his arms wrinkling it as he waited. What had their uncle done? And why did he care so bloody much?

Gareth sat up straighter and cocked his head as he looked at the small package. "Well, let's see what this portends," he said brightly, ignoring his inner worry, and pulled at the cord that bound the thing shut.

"Oh," he and Gawain both sighed as a simple gold chain spilled out onto the furs that covered the bed. A curved, bone white sickle like shape was hung at the apex of the necklace, and Gareth raised it to the light.

"The dragon's tooth," Gawain said. Gareth nodded; his throat tight, his mouth too full of emotion to speak. He turned the tooth about in the air, the polished wickedly sharp piece beautiful and dangerous even yet in the quiet summer morning. It hung from the gold chain, a metal cap holding it to the links lightly and most exquisitely, the craftsmanship of Camelot's finest evident.

"A gift worthy of the greatest of knights," Gawain went on and took the necklace from Gareth's suddenly trembling hands. He slipped it over his brother's head and let it lay against Gareth's chest. The tip of the tooth had been filed down enough so it would not cut the wearer, but its power was obvious even in its dormant state. Gawain's blond head swam; a better gift he'd never seen, and one from Arthur, the king of the realm! _Gods above._ He shut his mouth and tried to forget the look of astonishment and love and surprise on Gareth's face – he himself had never received anything of the like from their uncle.

And what a horrid brother he was, thinking such jealous thoughts. He cleared his throat and pushed the wicked ideas away – saved in a dark place for a time when he was alone and perhaps drunk and in the mood for self pity and hatred.

"I must thank our king," Gareth said and threw the furs that covered his slender body to the side. "He must know of my gratitude and appreciation of this amazing gift – Gawain, get off me!"

Gawain's larger body held his brother to his bed, even as the scowl he'd felt building slid over his face. It would make sense now – and he wouldn't have to explain his bad feelings to Gareth at all. "Stay put, young prince of Orkney," he snapped. "You are not fully healed and our king would be sore angry to have you in his audience chamber, bleeding on his floor. I will send for him later this evening. Do not worry – he will know of your feelings."

Gareth fought briefly, but Gawain was right. He _was_ weak and would be shamed mightily if he attempted to walk to the Great Hall now. "Promise me, Gawain," he said as he relaxed back into the fluffy bed. He frowned and imitated Gawain's expression unknowingly – although for a very different reason. "Promise it. And find Sir Lancelot as well; I must needs speak with him as well."

"It will be done, brother. Never fear." Gawain gritted out the last bit; he let go of Gareth as the younger man settled. "Now, sleep. And when you awake, all your wants will be met and your requests will be fulfilled. Sleep. That is an order," he added as Gareth made to protest. "I am your superior, and aside that, I am bigger than you."

He smiled and ducked the pillow Gareth threw easily.

It was too simple to wait and watch his brother fall back into slumber, and it was just as simple to send for Lancelot and in turn, Arthur, when the king had time. Gawain stood and paced the chamber, at last leaning against the wall that held his large fireplace, and allowed his dark thoughts to rise, this time bidden. What did Arthur truly want – and did his uncle trust him? Did the king truly want Gawain for his heir – and what of Lancelot's role? What of his other brothers, and what would happen should the queen bear Arthur a true son? The pounding in his head rose and threatened to blind him with its fury.

The knock at the door came as a welcome distraction, and Gawain crossed the room to open it, his footfalls echoing – his confused heart taking up the rhythm as he drew back the latch to admit Lancelot.

He watched the best knight in the world converse with Gareth. He watched intently the look of adoration and obsession cross his brother's face, and he shut his eyes and wished – not for the first time – the simple life of an uneducated farmer, ignorant of politics, courtly intrigue, and the idiotic concepts of jealousy and layered emotion.

He wished he'd let the dragon roast _him_, even as the sun filled the sky and animated happy discussion filled the room.

~


End file.
